Truth is, yet dreary, we were not meant to be

A forgotten poem, stuck in a bottle, amid the crashing sea

Truth is, yet unfortunate, that you are not mine

I do not get to hold you in the arms that you call a confine

Truth is, yet unsuprising, you do not love me so

I’m not the woman, you set out to seek

I’ve been struck by your fatal blow

Truth is, yet painful, you deserve much more

Than a broken heart, torn apart,

From all the boys before

Truth is, yet lonley, that I don’t contain your love

Your heart was gold, a tresure to hold,

But my staining palms have no glove

Truth is, yet seemingly sad, it isnt sad in any way

To you I have no debt to pay

I never belonged here anyway